Merry Christmas, Mister Noelle
by BlueWay
Summary: The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, and all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave... [Amourshipping]
1. Foreword

_Disclaimer: The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story._

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><p><em>She had come such a long way, and her dream must've been so close she could hardly fail to grasp it. Little did she know it wasn't a dream she was chasing, it was merely the past.<em>

Or something like that if I'm going to clearly borrow ideas and themes from the Great Gatsby.

I'm not going to lie to you, reader. I draw my inspiration from this story in three places: One from music. One from Fitzgerald. One from the characters this story is about.

It's natural I've enjoyed and interpreted my inspirations in a particular, personal way, but I do regard and revere them with respect enough to do them justice when what my inspirations inspire me to do is put on the wall for all to see.

With that being said, this is a story about the past, of forgetful people and of hopeful people. Of innocence during the holidays and memories and ghost stories which come to haunt the present.

Everyone has ghost stories, memories and deeds buried in the past to be kept there and there alone.

Whether it be feelings for a sweetheart long gone or a soul connived and done a wrong, some things are left in the past and should stay there.

That is not to say there are strong people, sure people who can confront the past and dream of the future, but what people leave behind and what they become because of it is a very acute function of fate, cruel fate.

This is a story about a man at arms on vacation, a trainer from Pallet Town, an endearing well to do girl from that boy's past, a sibling duo trying to make do with their family, and a man robbed of a birth rite.

The characters which are not originally mine are respected as such, and they are who they are outright, fully, and truthfully. Ash is still our lovable golden boy, Serena is still that uncertain girl with her eyes to the sky and her heart in the hands of a boy who can't quite remember what she was to him, and Clemont and Bonnie are still the siblings that look out and care for each other as children should. Despite this, they breathe new life with me, for I do not add on to them, but rather I develop what they already have and implied without making them unrecognizable.

The mischaracterization of these characters that are not my own has been something I have avoided as a sacred guide line in my development of this story, however the situations I put them in are not as restrained. No more mature than it needs to be, no less light hearted then my max ability to write out as such, this is a story of a traveling family of friends, settled down in a quaint winter town for the loveliest time of year.

My love for the Holiday season, for winter and snow, is warmly translated into this story I hope, however the lessons I hope to teach: cold and unforgiving. Much like the actual season itself.

What can you expect from this story? Well, I suppose the way you've found this is because of the pairing of two certain characters, so there's that. You'll also have your aforementioned holiday and winter foolery, maybe some exploration of some culinary aspects, a little talk between rich and poor. How this story ends however: nothing stops a Gala like a gun.

That'll all come in due time however, hopefully in sync with the real holidays.

Wherever you are, when you are, how you are, I leave you with the story and this:

I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you happy holidays, and a wonderful new year. I hope you have people who love you, if not, all my love to you, for thanks for reading this story.

And with that, I will leave this for the character I am most fond of and owe terribly:

Merry Christmas, Mister Noelle.


	2. Chapter 1

The journeys he often took far and wide often displaced time for him. The seasons would pass by over his head, his internal clock wouldn't know whether it had been day or night, and he often forgot how old he was when he was traversing the lands that had all felt like home to him as a wanderer, and a trainer.

Nevertheless, those days of travelling had been when he was younger, the memories of yesterday getting more distant with age and the responsibility he had nowadays. The travels he had done now were more oriented toward hurting people in those distant lands.

Whatever bad taste it left in his twenty two year old mouth though was not tangible at that moment, having been offered a month's leave in Kalos.

The air had been as crisp as his distant hometown of Fortree, and the cold he enjoyed, bundled up in a field jacket and jeans; his hair also a messy bundle of black, the silver eyes of his softened due to the lax of travelling inside of a rather pampered train cabin.

He wasn't a man at arms that month, just a man on holiday, away from his career and vying for some downtime. The only thing that he had on him that could identify his occupation was the hidden dog tags underneath his plain grey shirt and the government credit card that would've paid for anything he wanted. Mikita Noelle was a simple man however, so the only thing that he allowed himself was a few nuts, crackers, and cheese packages the satiate his hunger on the daylong trip that would've carried him across the region to a popular mountain resort in its eastern half.

The privacy door to his section of the cabin had been unlocked from the outside, Mikita's dull gaze falling on it wondering if it had been one of the attendants whom had taking a liking to pandering to him, having found out of his career.

He had mentally celebrated when it had not been one of those attendants. Instead it had been a young man, a teenager, hurriedly getting into his cabin along with his small electric rodent Pokémon, and shutting the door behind him, his back square against it as if blocking anyone else.

Dimly, Mikita flashed his blue and gold keycard to the room, the only other person to have such a card being his cabin mate.

The young man had drawn his own card from his pocket, smiling cheekily and waving in the same motion.

Mikita had straightened out his bluish grey field jacket, clearing his throat as he straightened his slacking form against the small couch in the cabin.

"I was beginning to wonder if I was going to be alone this entire trip." he had dryly stated. He had given the young man a once over. A bit on the skinny side, but a young man in the fullest, his body in the middle of that puberty process he himself had unfortunately went through during his training. Black, spiky hair had been crammed underneath a red and white cap, his face the type that he would have called cute, albeit a little bit rugged, even by standards of roaming trainers. The young man had been wearing simple clothing, a light, blue winter jacket as well as some jeans and sneakers. Mikita was expecting to see a bag on his form as well, but he had remembered that even he had dropped off his luggage in the appointed car. In fact he was one of the only people to carry his own luggage there, the other passengers having their appointed assistants do it for them.

Instead, he had brought a Pokémon: a Pikachu, its fur thick enough for the Kalosian winter, but clearly well groomed. His medical training had him immediately recognize that this Pikachu had, comparatively, been the same age as its supposed trainer.

A subdued stampede had made its way past the door to his cabin, and it had been more than apparent that this young man, and probably his Pikachu, was the reason for it.

A few stray knocks had rapped against the wooden door and the young man, as well as the Pikachu, had looked to Mikita as a would be savior, their eyes written over with fear. Albeit a comical one.

Mikita had raised up, using his palms to help him forward, crossing his arms and speaking with the boy with his silver eyes.

At first Mikita had given him an incredulous look, but he had kept a low chuckle hidden as he rolled his eyes, putting his hand on the young man's shoulder, motioning him to hide behind the door. The Pikachu had jumped into the young man's arms and stayed quiet as Mikita answered the knocking.

A rather hectic looking attendant had been on the other end, Mikita having only opened his door enough to get half of his body out.

"I'm sorry to bother you Lieutenant…"

"It's just Micky." he had corrected. He didn't like it when he heard that title used in place of his name in all honesty.

"I'm sorry, Micky." she had put her white gloved hand behind her head hand bowed apologetically. Her black and gold trimmed uniform was that of a maid and butler, rich in itself, but less so than the people she served on this train usually. For once she was talking to someone on the level with her evidently. "You wouldn't happened to have seen a child run through this car with an assortment of macaroons?"

"Did he have a Pikachu?" Mikita had asked. The boy just mere inches away from Mikita had gone pale, as did his Pikachu.

"Why yes!" the attendant had answered, thinking Mikita had a valid lead.

"I'm pretty sure I saw him get a few cars down." Mikita answered, feigning a smile, shutting the door and locking it as he had turned himself to face the young man in question. He had been a few inches shorter than him, around five and a half feet tall compared to his own five eleven form. Judging by his stance the boy had a few more inches to grow.

Crossing his arms, Mikita had only writ a second of disappointment on his face before he covered his mouth with his cupped hand in contemplation. The young man's hands behind his back and holding his head low in guilt, blame, and probably embarrassment.

"Empty them on the couch." Mikita had ordered in his stern tone as he had done to men he had commanded. The boy's winter jacket had been unhooked from his body and placed back first against one of the two beds in that cabin, the one that had now become his own come the fact that a good few dozen macaroons had sprawled across his jacket, the back of his blue shirt, and the bed sheets.

The smell had been sugar sweet, confectioner sugar ruining the back of the boy's black t-shirt and some of the jelly running as well. An entire rainbow of sweets hadn't helped alleviate Mikita's low gaze.

Mikita had poked his cheek with his tongue, barely tilting his head the boy's way, his Pikachu also carrying some guilt, mimicking the boy's guilty stance.

It was a shame he hadn't gotten his own Pokémon there with him, his loyal Staraptor of nearly a decade, but he had been dropped off in Kalos and had no time to stop in Hoenn, especially with holiday travel clogging up the air and boat ways.

After a few moments of silence, Mikita had taken his wallet out of his back pocket and thumbed out thirty dollars in notes in a roll, tapping the lip of the kid's hat to make him look eye to eye with him. He wasn't exactly in the holiday spirit given the immediate coming of Christmas, but he knew what charity was and he always gave it when he could.

"We all do stupid stuff. Merry Christmas." It had probably been enough to pay for this mess, provided the boy had made a proper excuse as to why he had dashed off with a batch of colorful macaroons, but given the fact that he had done this, it seemed like it hadn't been the first time something like this had happened to the young man.

"You can use this to pay off the baker you stole this from."

The boy didn't seem to know what to do with the cash Mikita was giving him, his gaze blank and confused. However after Mikita had personally taken the boy's gloved hands and closed the cash in it, did he finally say something.

The second he opened his mouth, Mikita knew he was of the honest sort, sometimes a bit too headstrong apparently, but having a good heart.

"Why, I can't take this mister." his voice was boyish, his cheeks marked up by scars, supposedly by wear and tear, though it seemed to fit him.

"Of course you can, unless you want to get kicked off this train. It'd be an awful shame, they tell me Snowbelle is beautiful this time of year."

He looked at Mikita with big brown eyes. Flinching just a second as the two made eye contact. Mikita's irises had been special with their icy eyes, silver in color, but the boy had powered through them, even if they had radiated with supposed disinterest and apathy. "But this is your money sir."

"You didn't seem to have much aversion to taking those pastries." Mikita responded, his hand flicking a dismissive wave.

"Well, me and Pikachu were hungry and…" Sometimes people need to vocalize their thoughts in order to see if they were actually sound. Apparently, this was the first time he had said it aloud.

"I thought so." Mikita had silently validated his assumption, sitting back down, bringing down a collapsible table to place his elbows on. The boy had been reluctant to pocket the cash, however his Pikachu had thanked him first in a string of 'Pika Pi's, Mikita vaguely familiar with the language as a former trainer. The Pikachu had climbed onto the table, slightly embarrassed, but offering a paw to which Mikita returned with a gentle shake.

"Name's Micky Noelle. What's your friend's?"

'Pikapi!' it had exclaimed proudly.

Mikita had gave a smile to it before glancing over to the boy, making himself comfortable and, almost shamefully, sitting across from Mikita.

"Thanks for the money." he had started, "My name's Ash Ketchum, from Pallet Town."

It was a standard trainers greeting, many often going off on their journey to bring fame and glory to their hometowns.

With that, Mikita fixed his own to match. "Again, name's Micky Noelle, Fortree City."

Ash had put his hand forward first, and when Mikita returned the gesture he was taken by surprise by how rough the older man's hands were, his hand frozen in Mikita's grip for a second.

Alarmed, Mikita had broken it with a little bit of shame.

"It comes with my job."

The boy had raised an eyebrow with his Pikachu, who had returned to his shoulder, resting on it.

Mikita answered the unspoken question, half lying, half telling the truth. "I'm a doctor."

"Hey!" The boy suddenly forgot about the roughness of Mikita's hands with a gleam of surprise. "One of my best friends is becoming one!"

Mikita faked a half smile, tilting his head. "Really? That's good, never a greater feeling than helping people."

Ash had agreed with an innocent nod.

"You a trainer?" Mikita asked, implying the more specific, proper title of trainer: the one which actually battled gyms instead of having a Pokémon companion.

"Yep!" He had answered with an enthusiasm that Mikita wished he still had. "I'm gunning for the Kalos league this year!"

"This year?" Mikita had questioned, thumbing over his rather large wallet, one flap entirely devoted to a sparse collection of badges from leagues he never completed.

"I've been all over, from Kanto to Unova. I've been competing in the leagues and conferences for over five years now."

Mikita's silver eyes had lit up to the same degree that Ash had his perpetually lit. There had been a bundle of joy wrapped up in that young man's head and it seemed like he had let it come out healthily.

"Fifteen years old?" Mikita had asked again, hands clasped together, his form slackening as he had fallen into casual conversation. He needed it.

The boy seemed to linger on his answer, which had bothered Mikita, the Pikachu also puffing its cheeks in trying to find an answer. Ash had come out of the thoughtful trance after a rather silent minute, the sound of the train clacking against the iron tracks filling in the blanks.

"I think I'm sixteen, fifteen….something like that."

Mikita had only blinked once or twice, his mind focusing on the "I think" part. Ash had seen Mikita's own contemplations in what he had just said. The young boy from Pallet Town never really stopped to think about what he was going to say until after he had said it. That was the trait of a young man that had always looked forward however, diving in headfirst. It would not have been so much of a problem if he had not been as careless as he was.

"People don't ask me much." Ash had explained, his own two elbows going onto the table in some shame, the Pikachu tucking itself in the circle he had made with his arms. "I've always been traveling so much that I lose track of time."

Mikita had only gave him a soft chuckle because of that. "Ain't nothing wrong with that. When I was on my journey, I didn't pay much care to things like my own birthday or holidays. I walk in on some towns and I forget its Christmas and I'm totally unprepared to give the people I travel with gifts." Mikita had spewed out almost awkwardly; a hand going onto his neck is some discomfort. A flash of guilt had come over him; a flash of regret for all the holidays and time he had lost to his service and all the things he had straight up forgot.

Ash had tilted a bit, trying to check his ears. Mikita's accent had been an odd one; foreign to him, but not native to the sing-song Kalosians. It wasn't also one that had typically emanated from his home region of Hoenn. It was a guttural tone, a very masculine one that had seemed to roar and growl in the back of his throat.

Mikita had also subconsciously listened to Ash's voice. Ash's was a multinational one, he had been around the world enough to know such a voice, especially in his experience. Ash apparently had been around and had absorbed the tongue and words of a thousand different people and cultures. His voice was young, but flat, simple: more personality there than steadfast traits.

Mikita's comment had been taken fully in by Ash however, despite how it sounded, gazing out into the progressively woodlands that came to be peppered with snow recently.

"I tend to forget things, I think." Ash had let out, just a little bit coldly, mimicking Mikita's own awkwardness.

They both tapped their fingertips against the wooden surface of the pull down table in some semblance of contemplation, Ash still rather sobered by the fact he had just been hit with the realization he was a thief. The trample of maids and butlers on that train back and forth just outside their door was no less chaotic as it was before, the whispers of speculation just outside of that expensive looking, though functionally sound door. Ash's keycard had been back on the bed, it being a metal card as opposed to a flimsy plastic one. He would've gone so far as to speculate it being some form of gold, but he didn't, even the rich had to save money in their businesses.

Mikita had instead gone back into his memory and tried to pick out if he had heard about this young man before… However the only thing in his mind prominently was the incident in the middle of Kalos where a Garchomp had recently gone mad and was promptly stopped by a traveling trainer… He wasn't a native to the region, he wouldn't understand if such a thing was important, though he was glad that that particular incident had panned out okay.

"How'd those other leagues go?" Mikita asked out of curiosity, Ash and his Pikachu seemingly occupied warily at the door at every few footsteps that came to pass it, anxiously.

"Well…" Ash had shared some rather proud look with his Pokémon, knocking the worry out of his head, some aura of pride and accomplishment that was as genuine as the friendship between them apparently. "I've never won any of them, however I came awful close to becoming a champion in those leagues."

"You got a goal or something like that?" Mikita asked, the badges in his wallet right now still the same jaded dull as ever. He hadn't cleaned them in years, but he kept them around as, unsurprisingly, badges of honor:

Icons of who he once was, and he what he was capable of.

The answer came so fast, it seemed, and probably was, second nature to him. "To be a Pokémon Master."

Mikita blinked once or twice, trying to remember if that was a realistic career choice he could encourage teenagers to chase after. It'd been a long time since he himself had dreamt of the future. Here had been a boy whose head had been stuck in dreams and the future.

A Pokémon Master was a title so grand it seemed to be just a fairy tale goal; a dream which kept kids imagining in their backyards about being the very best they could be and having the world recognize it.

It existed; it really did, however the current one was an old man who liked to keep to himself and his partners, so little was often publicized on it.

A more realistic goal had been acquiring a trainer contract with one of the big competitive circuits, or perhaps being an exposition trainer that put on grand shows worthy of movies, but no, not to Ash. He had said it so surely; and he himself had been just barely a young man. He would've known better about false hopes.

With any other person Mikita would've assumed them delusional.

Mikita got no such vibes from him. He got no vibe from his Pokémon. The Pokémon reflect their trainer's purest intentions and emotions.

He would know best, he had been a trainer once, and the mirror he looked into with his own Pokémon had been a shock to him.

The influence they had on him, and how it reflected, was scary, if not a loving display of how close his Pokémon were to him.

"You must be one helluva trainer then?" Mikita had said under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Ash hadn't heard Mikita's compliment, but his Pikachu had. It looks at him with one eye leered, questionative.

He cleared his breath, cleared most of the Slavic behind his voice. "You must be a pretty good trainer, huh?"

The Pikachu had talked to Mikita with its face, answering what his modest trainer wouldn't, grinning and tilting his head at the comment while denying it a bit.

'He is.' Is what Mikita had gotten from the Pikachu, sincere and honest.

"Oh yeah?" Mikita responded, talking to his Pikachu. "You heading to Snowbelle as well? Or are you just on the line?"

The Pikachu answered in a string of Pi Pika Pi's, which Mikita had understood. It wasn't the first time he had talked with the species, and he still had his days of trainerdom to assist in his linguistics.

'Vacation. We needed a break. We've only been here a few months or so.'

"Ah, really? Me too. I'm supposed to be here until just after New Years." Mikita stated. It wasn't vacation, but more so leave from duty. He had become used to the aches in his muscles and the knots of scars on his body, though it didn't make them hurt any less, so he had reluctantly taken the leave so as to try and mend them.

"The mother of one of the people I'm travelling with bought us a rooms at a lodge. She can't meet up with us there, but it was awful nice of her to give us a place to stay during the holidays. It reminds me back in Johto when the Professor in my hometown loaned me a-" The Pikachu had noticed that Mikita had opened his mouth to comment, but Ash had otherwise trampled over him. A slight tug on one of his arms opened up the discussion.

"This wouldn't happen to be the Buchannan Lodge a few miles north of Snowbelle?" Mikita asked, one tongue poking the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

Ash and Pikachu nodded intensely.

The Buchannan Lodge was one of the higher end resorts nestled in snow and mountain side, rates during the off months had been sky high, if only to match the wonderful accommodations, but during the Holidays they had been something else. Tucked into the bottom of one mountain outside of Snowbelle with a gracious view of another mountain across, it had offered enough smooth powder that Mikita would've considered snowboarding when he wasn't getting a well-earned bed rest, fulfillment of lazy habits, and perhaps a spa treatment if he hadn't been feeling too stringent about holding some form of masculinity.

He had read the brochure as if it was an intelligence report, memorized it, unfamiliar with the fact it seemed so comforting and humble and rich with its ballroom, attached five star restaurant, history, and wealthy family heads which ran the day to day business.

"You got friends with you?" the older man asked. The room they shared now was only one for two people, still, Mikita asked.

"They went off ahead, I got stuck behind doing some training in the last town and I didn't want to hold anyone behind." Ash said, caringly, if not kindly.

"You all sharing one room at the Buchannan?" Mikita asked, curious.

"Yeah. One of the smaller rooms because the cost is so high, but I guess we're going to be out and about all the time…"

Mikita cupped his chin with one hand, staring out of the window. People deserve a nice place to spend Christmas, nestled together. It was how he was raised, and how he usually spent Christmas as a trainer abroad, a long long time ago. Even as a trainer, he spent his Christmas cuddled by the fireplace with his one human companion and all twelve of their shared Pokémon, and he cherished those memories. Of course he'd always had a skewered vision of Christmas. His birthday was on it, forgotten in the bustle of the holidays which left him sore.

"Are you alone Micky?" Ash asked, tilting his head down to try and get a look of Mikita's face, a face that was sharp, prone to looking deadpanned in idle moments, though not outright mean or uncaring itself. He was clean shaven as Ash noted, though his hair had been a ruffle of black, not unlike his own, albeit a little more subdued, a little more a result of a bed head, and a little more thick.

"Generally." He blinked at Mikita's subconscious sulking, his tongue pushing out a cheek from the inside in contemplation, his two arms tucked in a little more, almost in discomfort.

"You can hang out with me and my friends if you want." The Pikachu backed this up with a hearty chu.

Mikita had shook his head in the negative almost immediately, but the thought stayed with him. It was an interesting prospect, and he guess he still needed someone to spend Christmas with. Still, he had only known Ash for the greater part of ten minutes. That being said what he had done for the boy so far was still yet to be fully appreciated.

He was weary of making friends, especially in his line of work, though he was only human all the same. Subject to any opportunity of friendship which he craved. Mikita was a pragmatic young man however.

"Well, let's just worry about this whole poffin thing first Ash. There are better things to be caught stealing in a train robbery than..." Mikita's head tilted toward the still sweetly ruined jacket in disbelief.

"Poffins?" Ash filled in the blank, money on the table, still not exactly fine with using Mikita's own money.

The Pikachu hopped from the table to the bottom bed of the bunk, scavenging a more intact pink one to nibble on in some guilt.

Kalos was renowned for its delicate and rather exquisite foods. Of course the region was one of the more romantically inclined, most of its culture bent into some form of sophistication that Mikita as a Hoeannic born and raised man didn't grasp or appreciate fully.

Ash and his Pikachu seemed to fully appreciate the culinary portion of it however.

"That's your bunk now, I hope you know, we get to the station in the morning if the conductor doesn't take the scenic route." All three of them glanced outside_. It was all scenic_. "…and I usually don't like sleeping on sweets."

Ash nodded, as did his Pikachu again, still eating as if it helped hide their guilt.

"The poffins were really good, okay?" Ash's only justification was not one Mikita was satisfied with, though if they were good enough to steal I suppose he hadn't been treating himself well enough with his drab crackers and cheese. The stomach is the path to a man's heart. It's no coincidence, Mikita figured, walking over to the bed and taking a blue one, that people are what they eat in that regard.

Airy as it was, it exploded in his mouth as he took one is as if it would get some of the guilt off the duo's conscious.

Sugary and sweet, melting in his mouth, though enough substance to warrant some chewing. It was probably the first sweet thing he had had in years and he took his time taking it down, hands shoved into his pockets as if fully appreciating it as Ash kept himself seated, twiddling with his thumbs, his thumbs over the paper money warily.

All the money Ash had was the money he earned. He wasn't one to take from people when he knew there were better places to put it. He'd traveled the world enough to say that; his mother knew what it was like to feel a cash squeeze of all people. This was where the resistance against Mikita's money had come from and hold over in his mind. It held him hostage, made him think about things he really didn't like to.

He'd prefer to stay happy with the life that he had as opposed to the one he didn't… Or at least the one he couldn't and wouldn't be able to achieve.

From time to time, people are due a bout of self-reflection and melancholy though. For Mikita however this was the other way around, eating this one baby blue poffin which had washed away the dry and salt of crackers and nuts.

"Pika?" The Pikachu looked up at Mikita, having observed that the young man was enjoying the poffin much more than he or his trainer would've.

The finer things in life, the smaller things, had not been as much as a focus as they should've been to him. Mikita's father had been a carpenter, his mother a fisherman. All work and no play had been his usual way of life when he hadn't been hard studying to knock out a decade and a half of school in the span of five in order to go on his own Pokémon journey. It's not as if he had regretted losing his youth to that. He had spent several years of pure freedom out and about in the world as a trainer before laying his life down for peace.

To be fair to Ash, Mikita had timidly thought, letting the aftertaste run through his mouth, he might've…borrowed these poffins all the same.

He was only around six years removed from Ash's supposed age of course. He didn't look much older anyway. At twenty two Mikita was, once or twice backed up by the comments by the more sour elders in the service, barely considered an adult.

Mikita finally let his gaze down on the Pokémon, shrugging once. He had commented that the pair had good taste, to which they both returned some bashful response. Mikita had hardened up all the same however, taking Ash by one arm, and locking the other one behind him with little to no resistance. Ash was too caught off guard to do anything than shake somewhat.

His Pikachu had immediately dropped what it was eating and sparks had flew up from his cheeks. Mikita was quick to respond however. Acta non verba. Action, not words. Mikita's creed often left much to be explained, however he had been used to not answering it for a while.

"Keep up the act and they won't kick you off, alright? The crew here on this train has a pretty good reason to trust me." He had been talking to Ash, but looked at his Pikachu, his face twisted as if saying 'trust me'.

Mikita had grumbled, contemplating if his grip had told Ash enough about who he was as he had locked Ash's two hands behind himself with one of his own.

If the Pikachu had shocked him due to the rough handling his trainer was subjected to his dog tags would've burned is skin.

He knew why he joined the service, he never doubted or regretted it, for he felt like he had made more a difference in those foreign lands with his brothers in arms than he had during his time as a trainer. However becoming jaded was part of the deal and Mikita sometimes forgot how blunt he was when he interacted with other people.

It's not like he had joined the service to forget anything really sad, to discipline himself as if he was a rowdy youth.

It was only afterwards after Ash's cringing had been audible did Mikita slap himself mentally.

"Oh, sorry. Some patients of mine don't like needles and… yeah."

"Urghk," Ash had still been rather tense in Mikita's grip, as was his Pikachu, however the two exchanged glances and what tension there was disintegrated. "Do you at least give your patients lollipops after?" he joked.

Mikita had grunted in some sarcastic confirmation, wagging one finger for his Pikachu to get within his reach. With the same speed he caught Ash he had wrapped a hand around the back of the Pikachu's neck as a Raichu does to a Pichu, 'deactivating' the Pokémon. A handy trick for mothers of Pikachu and Pichu, and in this case vacationing medics.

The Pikachu had tried to resist, it really did, but its legs and arms fell mostly limps, not even its cheeks responding to itself.

A handful of a Pikachu in one hand and a reckless trainer in the other wasn't exactly how Mikita thought he would've started his holiday leave, but it was only December 1st, and to be frank he imagined something peculiar was going to happen.

Might as well have gotten it out of the way first, Mikita had reasoned, some echo of apathy in his thoughts.

"If I'm hurting you, sorry."

Ash had chuckled through his teeth, the adjusting his arms. He had some muscle on him, but no more than a regular traveling teenager should. "I got myself into this…"

The Pikachu chuu'd dimly, having been basically deactivated, but Mikita had only known the Pokémon mirrored Ash.

After awkwardly operating the door with his foot, his jeans betraying him, he had two prisoners that he thought some punishment was in order for, the two front and forward, Mikita's hand around their backs.

* * *

><p>Cross armed and unamused, that was how Mikita had presented himself to the baker a few cars down, several of the servants of that train almost shamefully holding their heads down to the same degree of Ash and Pikachu on the carpet.<p>

Mikita himself had also kept his gaze down, if only to avoid the tension of the room. It was with the direction of his gaze did he realize that he had barely fit in: it was by bold color alone did his boots match the shoes of the servants against the royal red rug. Ash's sneakers (along with the rest of his attire) had been completely out of place altogether

He didn't belong.

"I'm sorry this delinquent disturbed you Lieuten-" Mikita raised an eyebrow at the young lady whom was addressing him. Half of it was for calling Ash something so condescending, the other was reminding her that his rank wasn't his name. "Mister Noelle."

Titles, ranks, standings. They were all supposed to be attached to names instead of used as substitutes. In the world he was walking into, going through as an incursion of luxury and of vacationing, the people who lived in that world only had titles and standings to their name backed by money and pomp.

Mikita had his own, just barely, just in sacred recognition of who he was.

Ash however, had none. Trainers weren't millionaires, industries of business, popular and powerful people which these people had been more used to.

His clean shaven face nodded, a slight frown coming across it as he had seen his two roommates and would be thieves kneeling to the rather portly baker on the train car.

Mikita hadn't been a lawyer, but the case was closed as the evidence was still all over Ash's back and on the Pikachu's face. It was with that he remembered to lick his own lips to get any residual blue off of it before he made his comments.

Ash had shot first however. "Me and Pikachu are so sorry for taking the poffins without paying, I thought they were included in the ticket cost and they looked so good and we skipped breakfast this morning to catch the train and-"

Mikita had coughed hard into his fist, Ash picking up the cue, his hand moving into his pocket and thumbing out the wad of cash.

"Please… Just take this all for repayment. I'm sorry."

There wasn't too big of a crowd, nothing more than the attendants and servants that were chasing him and the bakery car's staff, however there wasn't much room to wiggle, the tray which Ash and Pikachu took the pastries from still on the floor.

"I caught them trying to climb out of the train you know." Mikita fabricated a story, looking at some non-distinct light fixture, the ornate design keeping his gaze occupied as he lied.

"Then let's finish what they started and kick them off!" The baker had taken the wad of cash from Ash's hand before raising his voice. "You dare to think my creations are free? My mother was a nun and I know what charity is because of it, such delights of mine are not to be taken lightly!"

The man's handlebar moustache had jiggled (along with most of his rather portly face) as he yelled down at Ash, the two still keeping their gazes down to the rug.

"We can kick them off the train at bridge crossing." one of the attendants had noted.

"You can do that?" Mikita shoved his hands into his pockets, slightly concerned; his earlier comment more of an idle threat rather than an actual one.

"It's part of the policy you acknowledge when you buy a ticket." The attendant had been to the point, obviously Ash, and perhaps trainers in general, were not the standard fare for this train's business. All the riders asides from him had seem rich to some degree with their fur scarves and well-tailored suits, the only reason why Mikita wasn't perhaps treated the same was because of his service. That piece of information had spread throughout the train, as gossiping would have it.

"Who bought your ticket for this train kid?" Mikita asked.

"One of my friends." he answered.

Mikita had curved one part of his mouth down as he rolled his eye just a bit. "Name might be nice."

"Serena Hollande."

The name rung a bell to Mikita, but it made more sense to the train staff, already well acquainted with A and B listers. Hollande was a name associated with sports, not exactly with Pokémon training, but related. Mikita had seen the name once or twice in his life before in idle moments of browsing magazines in Pokécenter while waiting for treatments, otherwise over radio shows he kept on at night to fall asleep to.

"A Hollande has made acquaintances with you? I would've never have guessed. I guess it speaks to their poor taste in character of choosing-" The baker had raised his nose at Ash.

"I said I was sorry, alright?" Ash responded in a snap, his Pikachu echoing with a small chu. The young man was patient, knowing what he deserved, but still was irritated all the same. Mikita had sympathized. "Don't bring my friends down because of me."

"Hey look, the kid paid for his stuff, you don't need to shame him anymore." Mikita's accent had been brought to bear in all of its rumble. His voice was not one of considerable age himself, not holding much weight to it to those unacquainted, but it was sharp and unkind initially.

The chef dismissed Mikita with a flick of his wrist, turning away, happy enough to thumb through the cash as he disappeared behind a door. For a second Mikita thought he was in the middle of a class conflict as opposed to a simple poffin theft, however assuming was always something he had been bad at.

"I found the kid, I should decide what should happen to him, is that fair?" Mikita had replaced the baker in front of Ash, offering both of his hands to the two, his silver eyes holding nothing back to the crowd of maids and servants.

"Well what do you plan to do?" a voice asked amidst the sea of skirts and black ties.

"Well for one, it turns out he's my cabin mate for the trip. So I'll keep him under my supervision if he doesn't have a guardian here, now do you?" Ash tipped his chin up, nodding into the negative as both he and the Pikachu took his hand and body, the Pikachu surprising him by going onto his rather wide shoulders. "Alright then."

The staff hesitated, but they couldn't deny him when they were already moving out of the car, back to their rooms.

Mikita had muttered in a foreign language to Ash, an expletive on the baker's size, but it only got Ash's attention with a simple 'what?', Mikita still physically touching both.

Mikita's mind had been liable to drift into his mother language.

"See, that wasn't too bad now, was it? That baker seemed a bit stuck up."

"Yeah… Well…" Ash had lost his words as he hid from the gaze of others, Mikita basically hiding them both in his touch. The Pikachu had been so closely associated with its trainer, they were a mirror image, Mikita needing to put a hand on both of their backs to calm them. "Thank you, Micky."

"It's nothing, really." He patted both of their backs, his head on a swivel as he had let Ash use his key for the room, the staring never stopping. Mikita had stopped their gazes though by taking it on himself.

Mikita had made a point to put a little force into closing the door after they retreated back in.

"I'm sorry." Ash had said added on top of his gratitude as he sat back down on the bed, his jacket still there, the sugar having melted in some places ruining the pure blue fabric.

Mikita had only poked the inside of his cheeks in contemplation, eyes closed as he put any frustrations behind him.

"It's fine."

"You seem disturbed." Ash said, innocently, worried.

"I'm just…" Mikita searched for words as he sat back down on the couch, across from Ash, dim lidded. "I travel a lot, I've seen a lot of people in need grateful. I guess it just shocks me when I see people so ungrateful for what they have and what is being done to them."

People are judged by the company they keep. The company Mikita had kept in his life were men and women who had seen try their best in saving the world, day by day. He was unfamiliar with people who had tendencies to damn it. Of rich people who were careless, stuck up, unkind, and unheeding to apologies of wrongs and honest words.

Poverty, nor riches, was not for Mikita to understand. He didn't have the social imagination to put himself in the places of people who had to flock to shelters during cold winters such as the one in Kalos he was in now.

He only had the propensity to try and do something about it.

Ash on the other hand… The jacket he wore was not one to stand up to the scrutiny of sweets. It hadn't been the most expensive jacket, its material not even as premium as the couch Mikita sat on. In the older man's trained eye he saw how the stitching wasn't exactly uniform enough to be of the mass produced type.

It had reeked of homemade stitching, of careful regard only a parent could provide in the place of expensive products at stores that had names that would've made Mikita as vanilla a name as John.

To the owners of that train, to those who worked on it and frequented its services, Ash looked poor.

Mikita had felt bad to somehow read into his jacket and pull the hint of that assumption out, especially upon the revelation the ticket he had was not of his own procurement. The credit card he had was one of government issue: of almost limitless expenditure, if only backed up with reasonable context. Mikita figured his luxury with the card was exemplified that it was given to him on leave. People often seek forgiveness by giving money, and that seemed to be the case with who had given Mikita the black card.

"I'm grateful for you though, both of us." Mikita blushed as he heard the Pikachu affirm, popping into his trainer's arms.

Despite how he cradled his Pikachu in his arms, his right hand went down toward Micky, Mikita removing the blush covering hand from his likewise and clasping the trainer's. The Pikachu, for good measure, had place his paw on top of Mikita's hand as they shook.

"Friends?" Ash asked, his Pikachu's ears twitching in curiosity, waiting for the answer, same as its trainer.

Mikita's left arm had only grasped Ash's forearm in some reaffirmation of the shake, though his face had writ of uncertainty.

"We've only known each other for the better part of twenty something minutes…" he reasoned, beat around the bush.

"But you've helped me so much in that time." Ash reasoned, almost wistfully. He seemed so easy to make friends anyway.

Mikita had breathed out a light sigh, shaking his head in some agreement bashfully. "And you do seem like a cool kid."

"So, friends?" he smiled with that question, his naturally tan skin making him seem so much more happy, so much more enthusiastic than Mikita's pale self could muster. He had only held onto the grip of the young man's hand, feeling the rough paws of the Pikachu on his knuckles.

"Ash Ketchum?" Mikita had let the name fall off his tongue, Ash had nodded at the sound of his name, Mikita wise to look down at the Pikachu and look for some unspoken understandment as he breathed in to get some courage within his system. Mikita had no lack of courage, the problem was just gathering it.

"Yes Mister Noelle?"

"I'll be glad to call you friend for the next month."

* * *

><p>AN: So it begins.


	3. Chapter 2

The attendants had delivered what Mikita had asked for dinner, Ash and his Pokémon having to agree seeing as he wasn't in a position to ask for anything in that train ride. Instead the boy had only been trying to rest his head on the sweet smelling bottom bunk, his Pikachu on his chest. It was with the several hours conversation they had Mikita had confirmed the Pikachu was a boy, the straight edge of its tail another telltale sign.

He had been travelling with his trainer for as long as he had been a trainer. They shared the same life at this point. When Mikita had said his trainer's name, the Pikachu had looked up as if it was own, and it was only right.

The fact the nature of their relationship was immediately identifiable as such was a validation beyond words of Ash's worth of a trainer. Unfortunately the attendants of the trains and its usual passengers had been less receptive.

A few times the door had been knocked on, on the other side black suited men and dignified women requesting Mikita's attention and recognition of their thanks to him. It seemed more a formality rather than pure graciousness and thanks as they took his hands and said "Thank you for your service."

They said it with apathetic gazes, fake faces, their handshakes unsubstantial.

This had been all before they gave a glance at Ash and his Pikachu with varying faces of disgust and disappointment.

Ash had been left in the dark regarding what that "service" was. Mikita had been wise to not say what he had been outright. Was he a doctor? In some degree, yes. Ash had assumed service as only in regards to him being a doctor and preforming good work on patients. Ash had more respect to doctors than he did any business person, something he unnervingly came to terms with as he had spent the day in that train car, awkwardly trying to find his cabin, and subsequently hiding from attendants when he got a bit too overeager about macaroons.

Perhaps judgment was not one of Ash's most gleaming features, however as is a trait with all good trainers, he was able to pick up their surroundings better than most, able to dissect some information that even elder souls are not so tactile in feeling of.

This was why Ash had immediately judged Mikita to be a doctor of a different pervasion. Not every doctor was one that worked with bandages and blood of course, but he kept the topic clear in his head as he kept the guilt front and center.

Still, Ash had requested of Mikita that whatever he ordered, he had to order thirds of. The boy had a rather monstrous appetite, and Mikita had remembered that the young man had skipped both breakfast and lunch. To be fair to Ash, he was also raring for thirds.

This was his first real meal for a while, cooked in a proper kitchen, cooked in a civilian world.

It wasn't what he was expecting as he opened the door to their cabin.

"Something modest, maybe breakfast-themed, and quite a bit of it." Was what he had said specifically to the maid that was checking up on him and the delinquent.

Normally everyone had to make their way to the dining car for their dinner, included in the price of the ticket, but Mikita and Ash had forgotten about that as they chatted, getting to know each other as they tried to put the macaroons and poffins behind them.

The maid said she couldn't promise a dignified meal out of it, seeing as it wasn't exactly breakfast hours, but she said she could attempt the request for him. She bowed out, almost apologetically. That was a theme between all the butlers and maids, they seemed so reserved and so beaten down. Mikita had seen the weariness beneath their eyes and knew it was connected to some of the other passengers.

Just that morning he had seen one of the older passengers raise a hand at one of the maids as she had accidently dripped some coffee on some leather cases of his at the station. A few minutes after that he had seen a butler get chewed out over the fact he had mistaken the name of one passenger with another in the bustle of loading and passenger boarding.

In those moments he would bring his hand halfway up his chest and try to clench, but he never acted on those knee jerk emotions that caused him to do that. He didn't lift a finger, didn't say a word as he went on none the wiser.

In his younger days however, Mikita had been sterned by his father with this saying: _"Never complain with what you have, and what you have been given."_

He lived by those words today with the waft of ham and orange juice just in front of him.

They had wheeled in a quaint wooden table to their room, accommodating them and their reluctance to head over to the dinner car. With that table had been their platter on top of square plates and white cloth.

Mikita had a preference to bread and butter for pretty much every meal of his as a child; so far was the fact that he had named it his main staple. It was cheap; it was more or less filling; it was easy to make; and it was pretty good tasting.

Still, he found it silly he had focused on the flour kissed loaf of bread and the creamy white butter block next to it before everything else which had seem so rich.

Center most of the platter was an assortment of morning pastries: croissants which had seemed flaky enough to see elegantly fried, doughnuts with a tasteful amount of glaze, Danishes with seemingly meaningful cream designs on top of them and just enough strawberry oozing out to denote their true flavor past golden folds. The dozen or so of those pastries had sat in a wooden bowl surrounded by the actual meal:

On each side of it there had been a rather gracious plate of four eggs on the left side of the plate. Their fluffiness had been palpable past the slight rise of smoke and warmth, their yolks perfectly round, even the subtle shake of the train not jiggling them, denoting their overall firmness as if to keep the display neat. The three mountains of eggs had been flanked on their right by glazed ham, the skin of the several slices a dark, reddish brown. The flesh had been as pink as a baby's birthday suit, and probably just as soft as well if the comparison went as so far.

A thick bush of fried hash browns had just been south of the meat, the seasoning glimmering in the light of their cabin.

To top it all off had been one half a tomato, ripe as rain.

A pitcher of orange juice had been delivered next to the bowl of breads and pastries, but with that had come a luscious smelling chocolate river from a metal coffee pot into two dainty white cups, both delivered fine and dandy.

The silverware had been homely, but further inspection had revealed that they hadn't been at all scratched by wear and tear, the blue and ivory they had as ivory smooth.

Mikita had stood up and opened the door in order to let the entire serving crew in and out with their dinner meal, but before he had been able to speak one last set of plates was brought in:

Desert had been decidedly a pair of fluffy waffles stacked two high and drizzled in chocolate sauce, the whip cream on top of it having been apparently mixed with chopped cherries.

The table was somehow big enough to comfortably fit the meal, and Mikita had been thankful for that and the rather masterful handling of the hot meals by the staff. Thankful enough that he had thumbed out all the notes in his back pocket without second thought.

He was never really good at handling money and he had been given a guilty-free blank check that month. It was never a problem of spending too much however; it was more of a matter of not spending enough. He has no protest of spending it on other people however.

Mikita was self-conscious enough that he knew that if he used the money wrongly that a discharge might've followed, but tipping graciously was probably not going to be a red flag on the account of one of his commander's.

He had stopped as the first maid had silently tried to slip away, but he had called out softly to her, quickly glancing over the five of them that had delivered their dinner.

Mikita had gone to the first ATM he had seen on the dock and punched the card in, blanking out as he had idly pushed in three zeroes behind a one and promptly struggled as it spit out the notes he hadn't handled in years. Even as a trainer he had kept his money on his trainer ID.

After spending a ridiculous one eighty on jeans, a jacket, and a shirt at the first store he saw (unfortunately a boutique), he had more than enough for the entire month he thought.

It was more of a mistake to actually withdraw a grand at once; not giving out eight hundred and twenty of the remaining cash as a tip.

"Hey, here's some further apologetics from Ash regarding what happened earlier today, also for delivering our meal." Mikita had said, non-distinctly to the first maid who asked him about dinner.

He had folded the cash into a half roll, taking the girl's hand and giving it to her as the attendants all stood in disbelief.

"Split this up evenly, okay?"

One of them spoke out before Mikita had made her close her hand around the roll. "I- We-…. I don't think we can accept such a generous amount."

The attendants hadn't been the only ones speechless.

Ash and Pikachu had been gaping at the breakfast before them. Their appreciation of food was above and beyond what Mikita could gather, making him totally distracted from the quiet talks of the adults.

"Why not?"

They seemed to tug at the hems of their vests and skirts, looking at the floor as if unsure.

"Several of our customers and our boss might not believe it…" a young man had rubbed the back of his neck bashfully, unsure of himself. "Hell. I don't even believe it Mister Noelle."

Mikita's eyes had opened up a bit wider as he heard his last name, this time it having not followed a rank.

The implication that these helpful people would steal because they were not treated well enough was preposterous to Mikita. Though it was a

"I don't see why you guys don't get tipped this much often… The people that use this line are of a certain economical pedigree, aren't they? They can afford it."

Kindness and Wealth seemed to be mutually exclusive, as implied by the nervous expressions of the maids and the butlers.

Mikita glanced over at the waffles. "Well, I'm not taking this cash back."

They looked up at Mikita in fear, but Mikita had rectified himself and apologetically put on a warm, but subtle smile.

"Well, if the Boss asks, any excess cash was for damages sustained by the baker… I'm not sure a man of his… physique can handle any more stress with some of his decadent pastries being thrown to the floor. Hmm?" Mikita had tilted is head, his hand still closing the maid's grasp slowly over the notes.

There were many people who would've taken the cash Mikita had tipped without question, gladly. But there were those unlucky few who have been broken to stray away from good luck, sympathy, and generosity as if it had been tied with punishment.

One of the maids had seemed to work herself up into some emotion in her eyes. She was the only one who said thank you in a language Mikita had not been familiar with. Still, it was a word that could've been taken in two ways, especially given the treatment of the maids and the butlers by the people who were regulars on this train line.

Mikita had heard some indistinct yelling the next car over; of someone missing a drink he had asked for.

_ "Merci."_

With that, Mikita had nodded at the voice and led them out with only another request as a good bye.

Ash had been polite (or disciplined) enough to not dive into the meal before Mikita had gotten ready to, the click of the hard wood door behind him making him and his Pikachu raise their gazes up from the hams on their plate.

"What were you guys talking about?"

Mikita's smile had fallen into a frown in self-reflection, unbeknownst to him.

Ash's excited face had hardened up for a second as he saw Mikita's. "Were you apologizing for me?"

Mikita had ran his hand through his hair as he laughed a bit, as if it was to distract Ash from the sullen look he had worn as he thought about the attendants. Of those only two events he had seen of their abuse today, he had made up his mind about right and wrong. He was used to making decisions like that, but what had been hard about it was that it was in the civilian world.

He leaned toward the servants in sympathy, and he knew why; but what right did he have to make that decision?

"Uhm, nah. I was just asking them if they could check back in half an hour or so and clean up." he had made his way to the couch to sit down. The bed had been Ash's seat, the couch Mikita's. Even the rather modest space they had the room had allowed for two bunks bigger than anything they could carry on their backs, a bathroom, and standing room for the table on which their dinner was served on.

Mikita had slid off the field jacket for the first time, reveling in the slight chill, revering the darkened skyline of trees and the blue-white in the night as he sat down.

The room itself had been a rather gaudy red and gold to it traced with wood. The cars themselves had been of gold and green on the outside, the black locomotive up front still chugging along boldly through the first hard snow.

The heat of the meal alone had fended off the chill of the wood, reaching up and touching Mikita's face, frizzing Pikachu's fur and making his nose twitch in delight.

"Hey, Pikachu." the Pokémon had looked up at Mikita. The man was offering his waffles to the Pokémon. "I'm not much of a waffle guy."

Pikachu had bolted forward from Ash's arms, but had recoiled just before he had jumped at it, looking back between the two humans if it was proper. Mikita had nodded to both him and his trainer, the plate pushed just on to the table, just in front of the Pokémon.

"You think it would be too much to ask for a high chair?" Mikita had glanced back at the door, listening for the footsteps of the attendants.

The elegant fork had been picked up rather improperly by Ash as he considered the older man's questions. Mikita had been wary of anyone who had held a fork like a knife and a spoon like a child, however he had thought nothing of it seeing as there wasn't anything that was of a hard enough grain to require a steak knife.

Mikita had coughed once, picking up his own two utensils rather pronouncedly, hoping Ash got the message, which he had as he flipped the points the right way.

"I think Pikachu's fine on the table. He's not the type to lose fur around this time of year."

They both gazed outside at the snow non-distinctly, falling on some specks of yellow and orange that signified cabins and civilization which this train line skirted on the way to the east of Kalos.

Mikita had reached his hand out to the Pokémon, to which he initially recoiled, but looking between the waffles he had been sniffing up and his new friend, he figured that one or two scratches between his ears was called for.

It was in his petting Mikita had seen through those two ears and saw a few Pokéballs on Ash's belt.

"Will the rest of your crew be okay?"

Ash had glanced down, having stopped before he had stabbed the ham provided.

"Yeah, they'll be fine. I was able to feed them before I left for the station."

Mikita had removed his hand from Pikachu, impressed with his trainer, that same hand going to around the white cup with an unidentifiably chocolate aroma had emanated from.

It was with his removal of his hands did Ash gaze upon them again. They were scarred ragged, the white lines that criss crossed his palms faded with what treatment Mikita had given himself, but still identifiable to the more alert.

Mikita's fingers had wrapped around the loop of the cup, and Ash noted that they had been quick hands, accurate in their grooves. He didn't put out a pinky though, something Ash had thought someone of Mikita would do as someone able to ride on this particular train.

Pikachu had chuu'd a few words to his trainer, Mikita not listening intently enough as he brought the cup to his fast and tasted the creamy, heavy, and invigorating hot chocolate the maid had poured for them. It was a delight to be having so many sweets presented to him (and subsequently eaten by him) in one day, and perhaps his senses had been overloaded enough that he had sighed out dreamily, eyes closed.

"Hey, Mikita." Mikita had told Ash his real first name after he had asked if Ash was indeed his true first name. Ash wondered that too, which had boded well.

Ash had brought Mikita out of his reverie. "Hmm?"

"Pikachu says you've got some rough hands there."

Mikita hadn't looked down at his palms, as if to confirm it. His eyebrows had raised once, his eyes thoughtful as he considered it.

"They must hurt in this cold weather, don't they?"

Mikita had licked off some of the taste from his lips, the saucer which the cup had sat on in his other hand. He barely felt the warmth in his left hand and the coldness in his right, what feeling he did have in his fingers interrupted by abstract lines from metal and rust held from unsung wars thousands of miles away.

Ash hadn't dug in, despite his hunger. He was more intent on worrying about the man across from him, the man that had saved him and his partner earlier in the day. It was only fair, if anything.

The cup and the saucer had been put down on the table gently, Mikita rubbing his two hands into a ball, thumb passing over palm.

"I quite like this weathers actually, truth be told. I grew up wanting it."

"When I travelled through Fortree it was a rather warm place…" Ash remembered. In their conversations earlier Mikita had learned that he had visited his home city and subsequently won the badge there. It was something Mikita hadn't done himself admittedly. He wasn't as absorbed with the league challenge as the young man before him. He had been in it for the adventure, the chance to do something greater than him.

That yearning led him to a different path however.

A few hundred feet up in the Fortree trees the usual temperate heat of Hoenn was somewhat alleviated, though it kept Mikita and his family in steep want of winter. They just were that type of people. Mikita and his family had always been described to as a certain type of people: immigrants that came to Hoenn a long time ago. Initially they had been reviled for how different they were in appearance and disposition, but this was a natural part of society Mikita had become used to. A progressive society had been kinder to Mikita of course as opposed to his ancestors, but his parents would always tell the stories of how discrimination had demeaned them, had made them cold blooded to those around them. Mikita had perhaps used this as an excuse for how he answered:

"There's just something about the cold that makes you feel alive inside: it pricks your skin, you can see your breath, and warmth is only so much sweeter in it."

He had seen Ash understand and nod with his Pikachu to Mikita's words, leaving the topic be as he picked up his own cup.

"Cheers?" Mikita asked.

"Cheers."

* * *

><p>It's not that Mikita didn't appreciate the eggs and the meat; he had just wanted the bread and butter more. So that's what he had mostly partaken in after a few involuntary bites from everything. Ash had been more than delighted to take Mikita's left overs, Pikachu more than ecstatic to take Mikita's tomato and croissant.<p>

The eggs were left, dipping into the yolk with his slices of toast.

Mikita had ate in large bites, all consuming, albeit patient. Ash had bit in chunks, in imitation of his Pikachu almost.

The older man didn't judge, aimlessly staring out into that same old night view, up at the night sky.

"How's being a trainer now a days? It's been years for me."

Ash had swallowed his croissant and ham sandwich as he mulled over the question, but Mikita had entered another one into the pipe. "Probably ain't that lonely, especially with these friends I keep hearing about from you."

The light butter had melted on his tongue as he waited for an answer, one of his elbows improperly on the table, holding up his head as he continued to look out into Kalos. The bread had made him wistful for the past, but just barely. The future and his present had weighed him down enough in the now to keep him from going back, for better or worse.

"I should probably tell you more about them, eh?" Ash said cheekily, his index curling up to his nose as if trying to considering something, stopping just short of his lips, his thumb resting on his chin.

All Ash had talked about was his Pokémon, from Kanto to Unova, from his hometown of Pallet to the bustling metropolis of Castelia. Of all the battles in between and of all the highs and lows of experiences he had been happy to say aloud, remembering them himself. The boy hadn't peaked yet, but with his attitude, it was doubtful he ever would.

He had said little on his human companion though, though not on purpose. Mikita had heard of them as side notes: of the doctor in training friend of his that was around the same age named Brock, of the excitable contest master going through the circuits of each region appropriately, of a few rivals he had held in disdain at first, but mellowed out as they grew together through battle and roads walked.

"Well, tell me about who you're travelling with now. I think I'll be making their acquaintance before tomorrow night?"

Ash's eyes had popped up livid, happy at that fact, nodding. "Yep!" He was excited enough that he had pushed some of the plates away from the danger zone that was immediately in front of him, Pikachu happy to pick up the slack.

Mikita didn't know how but even their stomachs were in sync. Ash had the appetite of an animal and Pikachu confirmed, the tamatos gone in seconds after he offered his to the Pokemon.

Ash had leaned back happy at what he had eaten so far, but brought his hands up this his chin, his eyes up and to the right as if remembering a memory.

"I'm travelling with three other people Mister Noelle." he held up three fingers.

"One is Clemont and his sister, Bonnie." Mikita had been expecting a last name, but he was just content to listen. "They were two of the first people I talked to in Kalos when I got to Lumiose City to challenge the Gym there…"

Mikita had heard the name before, or at least he thought he did, his unoccupied hand going back to his wallet and thumbing over the badges.

This wasn't Mikita's first time in Kalos. As a trainer he had been here on that same challenge, mostly on the western coast, but Lumiose was a must see city to any traveler in Kalos. He wasn't as so concerned as Ash was of course, the Lumiose City badge he had was one of only three he had gotten in the region before he had got distracted by, presumably, an exciting event in another region that he couldn't have waited to see.

"A few things stopped me from challenging the gym though, but I didn't mind too much really. I mean, when I'm really ready to go back and challenge the Leader for that badge, I probably won't have to travel all the way back there."

Mikita had raised an eyebrow at Ash, not picking up the insinuation.

"Clemont is the Gym Leader of the Lumiose City Gym."

Both his eyebrows had went up with that.

"Really? Wow." To be fair Mikita shouldn't have been as surprised as he was. He had traveled (and subsequently fallen in love with) with Winona's daughter.

It seemed too poetic, too romantic, to realize that he had fallen in step with the heart with that girl. Though it was his little slice of perfect that had made his own journey worth doing, and he never argued against it. Arguing was the exact opposite of what he did with her, day to day, a long time ago it seemed.

Nowadays they had been separated by duty. She had been training to inherit the Gym, seeing as the Hoenn League saw no problem with the daughter taking over for her mother.

He had been in lands faraway, fighting on foreign sands for her.

They didn't keep in touch as often as they liked, despite the promises of a hundred calls and a hundred letters.

At this point, it had been about a year and a half since he had seen her, heard her voice. On top of that it had been more than half a decade since he had gone home.

It was a hard transition from being able to be with someone you loved every day to being a thousand miles apart, but it was a transition he endured and was molded by.

Mikita digressed in his mind was he remembered the soon to be Gym Leader he had travelled with, but was brought back out by Ash talking about him.

"He's the best inventor I've ever seen; one of the smartest people too… Maybe not the best at making friends though."

"Well, if he's your friend, he must be getting something right." Mikita smiled.

Ash responded in a blush. "Awh, well- His sister helps him out anyway, always trying to find him a girl to take care of him."

Mikita chuckled at the thought, leaving the edge of his toast to stir the yoke as he considered them.

"They your age?"

"Clemont is about my age, his sister is seven I think… It's nice that I get to travel with people my age, now that I think about it."

"There are others?"

"Oh, just another person." The younger man had seemed to daze off as he had mentioned there being another. Mikita had already known whom that was, or at least thought he knew. He remembered the name he had listed when he was confronted and asked who bought the ticket for him.

"Serena Hollande?"

"Yeah."

Mikita had dug back into his memory for that last name as he also tried to remember the last name of the Lumiose City family that had run the Gym. Clemont and Bonnie's name had been Lyon, for if he remembered correctly he had squared away with a Mr. Lyon in his challenge. Hollande had a been a bit more obscure, but he had taken on that thread of memory relating it to sports and hade made certain in his mind that the Hollande family, or at least one of, had been a noted Pokémon rider of some sorts.

"You've been travelling with her long or is she the same case as the Lyons?"

Ash had blinked at Mikita once or twice, having pulled Clemont and Bonnie's last name out of seemingly thing air, however he refocused as Pikachu dipped its nose in the chocolate syrup while trying to eat up the waffles.

"I think…" Ash had started off with that same phrase of uncertainty. "I've known her longer than I've been on my journey, but I've been only been travelling with her for these last few months." the young man had cupped his chin thoughtfully, almost as if he was disturbed.

As always, Mikita hadn't really thought of it as necessarily deep conversation. That being said, he hadn't been one to talk anyway, off and on the fields he had worked on.

"Do tell?"

"We met as children in my hometown during Summer Camp, though truth be told I can't quite remember that… I mean, it was ten years ago."

He brought up his shoulders in a uneasy shrug.

"Ten years… and she remembered you?"

Mikita furrowed his bold eyebrows at Ash, a slight hint of humor in it.

Ash had stared back at Mikita, but he hadn't picked up what he was putting down in the movement of his eyes and the slight curve of a smirk.

"Is something wrong Mister Noelle?" Ash looked at Mikita's face quizzically. The same way a Lillipup regards a new person in their life or a particularly interesting blade of grass. It exhumed of innocence, or, as a particularly womanizing comrade of his would say: dense.

Mikita had straightened his face into a deadpan, not getting any traction from what was usually a man to man topic of the interest of women in them. It was a topic Mikita hadn't thought himself a high expert on, but still, he had loved and still continue to love someone, so he had the prerequisites to talk on the subject.

"Uhm, no. I was just wondering why some of the people here know that name: Hollande."

"It's probably because her Mom was a Rhyhorn Racer before she had her."

Mikita had nodded, taking another bite from his toast; "Makes sense." It didn't only make sense to him, but he had heard of what kind of crowd surrounded the sport. Once or twice in years gone past he had seen the tickets passed around on the bases he had called his temporary homes. These tickets had been vouchers for bets, payouts and losses dependents on the races broadcasted on elegant tracks in Sinnoh, Kalos, Kanto, and the like. There was money there, and where money was the type of people that had frequented this train line had also been present.

That type of jockeying had always been a sport for the more civilized… More civilized outwardly than Pokémon battling that is.

Interestingly enough it was more the advisors and endorsers in Pokémon Riding that seemed more dignified than the actual riders he noticed.

"You travel with unique people Mister Ketchum."

Ash was unique himself through the stories he told, but he figured that what he was was more important to certain people than what he had done. Mikita had known better.

The young man wasn't used to telling his story to people, but seldom do people hold back after talking to such a good listener, one which Mikita happened to be.

Mikita himself had been glad not to tell his story. If withholding it had made him feel rotten, what he could tell was far, far worse.

"They tend to find me." he grinned with a wink.

Mikita had gotten the implication as he bared a grin for a second, tilting his head modestly. "Well, I'm not too interesting myself."

"Oh come on Micky. You're a Doctor, you've probably been all over and saved lives, haven't you?"

Mikita had finished his toast as he contemplated, his two hands clasping into an arch for his head to lay on, looking out at the view still.

To say he was a Doctor was to say every fireman was an expert in contracting on account of all the doorways needed to be kicked down or made on the job. Yes, he had fixed broken bones with sticks and stones as splints, and carved out injuries to be more bearable, but that wasn't his purpose in his career.

"I was only doing my job, there's not much pride in that."

That was the excuse, answer, and justification he carried for the better part of several years since he had taken his career choice.

"I mean, I guess you deserve to be on here as opposed to me." Ash had some self pity fall out of his mouth with that, his Pikachu suddenly very sensitive to his trainer, those yellow ears drooping down along with Ash.

"Nonsense. This is a service and this was paid for. You have as much right as me to be using this train."

"Well, I don't know Mister Noelle. Serena told me that the type of people who use this train line also use the Buchanan extensively. I don't think I'll fit in much."

Mikita poked his cheek with his tongue as Ash made an attempt to pick up his fork again. "What type of people do you mean? I've been wondering that myself ever since I got on."

Ash placed his fork down, not even bothering anymore as he went for his glass of orange juice. Coffee wasn't something he enjoyed drinking past the toasting.

"People that matter I guess; people that have money; people that didn't grow up the way I did."

How Ash grew up was in this way: The father was a trainer who never really bothered to come back home, Mikita figuring looking for some great battle he had fought in the past and gone out to relive. It was the same with some of the other people in the service. This had left Ash and his Mother alone in Pallet Town, his mother owning and operating a quaint little restaurant in Pallet that had been in the family for generations. Apparently she had wanted to be a trainer and a model, but the fact that the she had the slack to pick up meant that the restaurant and the child was a handful enough.

Pallet was, fortunately, a kind community to the single mother and Ash was fortunate enough to be brought up in that clean, rather rural environment. He was brought up right, not rich. Pre-schooling starting at three, and a combination of primary and homeschooling up until the magic age of ten when he had went on his journey.

Ash had talked so highly of his mother whenever she was brought up, usually in the interim between jaunts in regions.

She had worked so hard and perhaps spoiled her child a bit, but she was never one to have much money to kick around, especially with her investments in the business.

Ash didn't need much investment himself to grow up and have fun however. At least according to his antics with a Gary Oak and the constant time he had spent in nature in Pallet's woods.

He wasn't the best swimmer though, at least according to that one memory of him almost drowning in the town's pond.

Ash was surprised he had been able to remember any of what he told at all, and he was overjoyed by it a bit, only amplified by the hearty food.

The young man had a point about the differences in growing up however. On the platform Mikita had idle conversation with a fellow passenger after the man was trying to take a good look at Mikita as if he was a bum or a wax statue.

He had identified himself as a "Mister Kenton from Castelia" and talked about himself a lot. Mikita didn't protest over hearing what the man had to teach him about the difference between lofts in the high rising city and how his parents had bought him his own floor when he was fifteen so that he could become a man early and get on the family's stock business sooner than later.

Mister Kenton attended a private school, had his own maids and hundred thousand dollar gifts as a kid, bumping shoulders with men of lesser name of him without consequence.

That man's life had been planned out, supported by what his parents had.

Ash didn't know how tomorrow was going to play out, the only support he ever had being his mother as opposed to her net worth.

There was a difference there and it was palpable, nothing to say of how they walked.

Mister Kenton was probably still onboard if Mikita was so inclined to refresh the memory and confirm the difference, however he was eating his dinner and having good talk.

"I think you matter. Just not here." Mikita had said softly, reasoning.

"I don't think it works like that Mister Noelle." Ash had sipped from his glass a bit too strongly, coughing out as a bit of acid had got caught up his throat. He tipped the glass toward Mikita as if making a point as he regained his breath however. "If you matter, you'll always matter. You matter because of your skills. If someone in the next car over passes out because of some food allergy, you can go over and help. I can't. You're worth more than me in that way. I mean, no one's going to call on me for a Pokémon battle because they need to see it or something like that…"

Ash had sounded happy as he said it, devalued himself. He saw it as something else though:

"I know who I am and what I want, and I'm glad."

"And what you want to be is a Pokémon Master, right?"

Ash and Pikachu nodded in sync. "Yep."

The older man grimaced in his expression. "To be fair, I don't think Pokémon Masters could even fit in here."

"Who said I wanted to fit in here?"

Ash had smiled his own toothy grin, and Mikita had raised one eyebrow in some approving gaze.

* * *

><p>The clock had struck ten and the food and the plates were gone, the attendants taking them away with pleasure. They said nothing of the money and the tips, and they had done their work without uttering much of a sound. They were a tired bunch, these servants. Mikita had seen the weariness in their eyes and it was almost the same in his own.<p>

Almost.

They both served people, them and he. The difference was what Mikita had done in those people's names.

The man had decidedly laxxed from listening to Ash, kicking off his boots and propping his legs across the couch, his back to the wall of the train car.

The story which Ash had been telling now had been some fantastical story from Sinnoh, about a story of a displaced and kidnapped Riolu and what he and his friends had to do to help a Ranger save it. There was some reservation in Mikita's mind that the tale was a bit overglorified, but he never questioned, only believed.

Between the sound of Ash's voice, his rhythmic scratching of Pikachu's scalp as the Pokémon curled up in his lap, and the beat of the track, the hypnotic tunes had made Mikita's eyelids heavy.

If he were to fall asleep this would've been the first time in years he could've slept without worrying about the occasional explosion at his bedside.

He was looking forward to it honestly. That and his first hot shower in years.

Mikita Noelle had been a long ways away from this world for a long time, and he had been long unused to the creature comforts of steam and sleep.

Why he had chosen this train line and the Buchanan Lodge wasn't entirely in his grasp. There was a little influence from a comrade of his, a man whose name had carried weight and wine. He didn't fit at all in the career he shared with Mikita, but he was a better man because of it though. The silver spoon had turned into a black rifle for him, though still there was some leftover knowledge of the pomp and power of prosperous people.

Maybe he could've avoided this particular vacation path if he had more control over the booking process of it, and if he wasn't relegated to Kalos. Though alas, Mikita was never one to learn how to use a computer and the man who had recommended the Lodge to him had been drunk and confident when he punched his name in.

Still, he'd been thankful that the man did in a way, and he remembered his unkempt blonde hair that was usually combed to be as proper as the cuts he had seen during the boarding process.

"So Serena Hollande, what's she like?" Mikita had blurt out as the thought of blonde hair and appearance danced in his head.

Ash himself had been laying on the bed after the great meal, the aroma of egg and bread still over the room. He had stirred as he heard the question. "What do you mean?"

"You said you've known her for quite a few years before you started travelling with her, you two must be close."

Ash had stirred still at Mikita's assumption. His hands had floated over the lip of his hat for a second before seizing it, bringing it face to face with him. He had worn that hat even indoors, even in this place with all its manners and formalities. He had tossed it down to the foot of his bed however, next to the crumpled mess of his jacket.

"It's complicated."

Mikita had accidently purred childishly at the word, in the gossip.

"Is it complicated enough that she'd mind you telling me about the details?"

Sure, Ash had been much more comfortable talking about his Pokémon than he had his human friends, but Mikita figured it was only because he didn't explicitly asked. Now that he had, he wasn't comfortable at all, as if he didn't know what to do.

"Auhm…"Ash twiddled his fingers, Pikachu hugging his chest in sleep. Eating tends to take a lot out of people and Pokémon. "I guess not."

A moment of silence had rocked between the two, Mikita twiddling his own thumbs, just now noticing how dry and cold they had been in that moment.

"You don't have to." he finally relented.

"Sorry Micky, it's just that if I said anything I might not do her justice. I mean, I could say she's really pretty, really kind, thoughtful, talented and all that stuff, but I don't think you'd believe me."

Ash's index finger had dug into his cheek as his hand had propped up his chin on his chest in thought, broken out of it by a simple question that even he could've answered.

"Well is she?"

Ash mumbled, his eyes blank as he considered which of the two possible answers he could've said.

In truth Mikita had taken Ash's reasoning to heart and didn't particularly want to hear it, getting up without his boots and going to the door.

"I guess I'll find out tomorrow. Now go get washed up, I'm going to go ask someone when we'll arrive tomorrow."

Ash had flashed a thumbs up before Mikita had shut the door behind him, though he had kept it up even as Mikita disappeared in view.

To be given time to consider if Serena was indeed all those things in order so that he could've verified it to someone was something Ash wouldn't have expected ever. He had named off all those amiable traits just because they had sounded nice, not because he had immediately associated Serena to those things.

He wasn't one to lie however, and the answer to Mikita's question had been very clear in his head.

"Why'd you think he asked that about Serena buddy?" Ash had silently whispered to Pikachu.

The Pokémon had responded as only he could: having taken an aspect of Ash unto himself, yet still being outside of his trainer in thought and heart.

He responded in a strain of tired chuus however, he being picked up and placed where Ash had previously been on the bed as he had taken a stray towel and gotten ready to wash up.

"You're right, I did mention her name earlier… What do you think Pikachu?"

'About what?' Pikachu has basically asked his trainer, getting a little more irritable against the soft pillow.

"His question about her."

Unsurprisingly, as do most Pokémon to their trainers, they shared the same answer, and Ash found some peace in that.

* * *

><p>Mikita thought it was perfectly okay for him to be walking a few cars down to the bar car with his socks, but once or twice some of the attendants whom had cared for him earlier had panicked and offered their own shoes to him.<p>

He hadn't seen the problem and pushed on, thanking them for their kindness.

He doubted many people looked down in that type of train, especially in the car that had served drinks.

Besides, his socks were wool and thick, his feet scarred like the rest of his body. Weathering had done so much for him.

The bar car was just as elegant and brightly lit as the rest of the train, green and red and wood colored with ornate bronze a constant theme, one side of the car devoted to a rather western looking bar with shined wood and a man in a black suit half passed out on it.

Wriggling his toes once or twice in disbelief, he'd been happy that the floor hadn't been sticky.

The bar tender had seen him, dressed like the rest of the attendants, and stood at attention from his piteous looking at the passed out man.

_"Puis-je t'aider Lieutenant Noelle?"_ This one hadn't got the message, though Mikita couldn't hold any malice to the man, more intent on the bottle of clear liquid just over his shoulder. The language which the attendant talked had hinted that he had been a native to Kalos. It hadn't translated entirely clear in his head, but Mikita got the message as he nodded.

The man found a seat before he had answered in words, some strange chain of thought leading him to sit next to the passed out man.

"You've got any Vodka from the Motherland?"

The bar tender had been trained to answer even that question, Mikita purposefully letting his accent show in it.

_"Non monsieur."_

"Grey Swanna then, short glass, straight. More ice than liquor in there please."

The drinks had been on the ticket price, and the man to Mikita's right had taken it to heart.

"Is he okay?" Mikita had asked as he took a glance, his drink being poured.

The attendant's pencil thin moustache had twitched as he considered the man again, the left side of his head probably making an imprint on the wood he would've had to rub out. The attendant didn't answer, but he had crossed his arms, a hip swaying to one side as he drew a cloth from his apron and went to work on one glass.

"It's been a while since I've done a blood transfusion, but I think I could manage one tonight…"

The man's head had been turned the other way, only letting his brown curls be in view to Mikita, but he was breathing hard enough for him to know that he really didn't need to find a donor and pierce a vein that night.

"Do you know when we'll be getting to Snowbelle?" Mikita asked, picking up his cold drink from the counter as it was slid over.

He had gotten used to the drink. Not because he had frequented it during holidays or celebrations. It was because he needed it. Not out of addiction. He was stronger than that. He wasn't strong enough to not take on the world without the distraction of it however.

_ "Probablement dans le matin monsieur… A peu pres huit heure."_

"Ah, well, I'm sure this guy will recover by then." There was sarcasm in Mikita's voice, but he had put it away as the bar tender raised the Vodka bottle again, offering. Mikita had waved it off.

His intention coming to this bar hadn't been to get drunk, especially with his cabin mates, but still, he was an adult and he felt obligated to drop by and sip at something as he gave Ash another level of privacy to ready himself for bed.

So that's what he had done, sip at the cold drink and let it burn into his throat. Vodka didn't exactly sit well with breakfast, but he had attended to the drink slowly as the man beside him had stirred in his drunkness.

At least he had smelled nice.

The smell was familiar though, oddly to Mikita.

Then he remembered what Mister Kenton had told him as he had boarded the train with his own servants.

_'I'll be heading straight to the bottle laddy!'_ he exclaimed, reasoning to Mikita in his yells that being drunk was a better passer of time than sleeping.

"You know, I knew your cologne was way too strong Mister Kenton."

"Is that you Captain Noelle?" A growl of a question.

Mikita had put his palm to the man's back as he rumbled, his body still unmoving.

"For one, it's Lieutenant Noelle, and two, just Noelle is fine."

The man had had shifted his head, his beard scratching along the wood to face Mikita.

His face was one of a thirty year old. The beard didn't help his youthful appearance from his rather tall head, making him appear as if he had been ripped out of a black and white photo from the roaring twenties.

It was also a face of a drunk man, half lucid and half content.

Mikita had shook the man once or twice from his palm, he groaning.

"You know when I had my first drink Mister Noelle?"

They had said it in unison. "From good ole Cathy Sullneberg's bosom during my 16th birthday party."

"Yes I know." Mikita had wanted to stern the man in some way, but if he hadn't been stubborn while he was sober, he was an iron dome when he was under the bottle. "I thought you said you had your drinking problem under control Mister Kenton."

"Yeah… I have my drinking under control."

_"Il n'a pas vomir." _the Attendant had seemed to agree.

Mikita had leaned over the counter to see the several bottles of beer and used glasses in the sink. The bar tender and he had shared a knowing gaze. What control had meant was debatable, but Mikita hadn't cared enough to press the topic of Kenton's inherent vice.

"You know… Mister Noelle…" Kenton had sang his name, his words jumping up and down. "I heard about that little debacle you managed with that brat earlier from a friend onboard."

Mikita had taken back a larger gulp at the mention of it. The bar attendant had raised an eyebrow at Mikita before taking the man in, as if saying 'That was you?'.

"Why did you even bother with the kid? All trainers are so rowdy and what not, they don't belong here. Rowdy. Yeah. That's what they are. They have to hang out with animals and monsters all the time because they're of the same flock." At least Kenton had been a coherent drunk.

Fingers grinded into the angular corners of the glass as it sat on the counter, imprinting a ring of water. "I used to be a trainer, mind you."

"Yeah, and then you grew up and got a real job."

It was a legit answer, and one which Mikita didn't expect. It was enough to give him pause, forming a simple response in his head that he didn't lie at all about.

"You've gotta take care of children, is all."

Kenton seemed to have a response to that as well. It wasn't a surprise that the two lesser men had thought he had been in this same conversation before. "My parents never took care of me, and look how I turned out!"

"Drunk in a bar talking to a stranger?"

"Drunk in a bar on a vacation I gave myself after saved my company from losing eight hundred thousand dollars this month." Kenton slurred his speech, lip curling. "And you're no stranger to me Mister Noelle."

The man in question rolled his eyes subtly, easily dodging a hand from Kenton that went to pet him.

"By doing what, pray tell?" Mikita asked to keep the man's faculties occupied with talking.

"Laying half of it off." he answered, too easily.

Kenton was in the business of stocks. When Mikita had initially pressed the specifics, he had told him that his family owned a commodity brokerage firm in Castelia. How laying off people from the firm saved them that much money wasn't for Mikita to know, but apparently that's what happened and it was seen as something positive by Mister Kenton, rewarding himself.

"You know, the holidays are just two or so weeks away, you think you could've waited at least a month?" Mikita scowled.

"Nah."

Mikita had very visibly shook his head back and forth in disagreement, though he had done worse himself.

"They'll be fine. They worked under me so they got paid a lot before hand, they have security." The man had hummed, almost sympathetically. It was hard to tell the feelings of a drunk man, or if he had actually believed losing a job wasn't that bad.

"I hope you're right Mister Kenton." Mikita breathed out, biting back a shard of ice that had passed his teeth. "What kind of accent is that anyway?"

"It shares the name with my favorite drink."

"Ah."

The three of them, Mikita, Kenton, and the bar tender, had all sat and stood there for minutes in silence, only punctuated by Mikita's sipping and the rumble of the cars on the track. The train had been an older one, a classier black hunk of shaped metal that ran on coal and left puffs in its wake. A visage from an older time, brought forth to appease people who thought backwards in their money.

The ex-trainer was a little tempted to walk the entire way to Snowbelle from the port in Coumarine, just to see if he still had it in him. Though he didn't walk on ceremony anymore, and it had been a path he walked before.

"How many of the people on this train are heading over to the Buchanan you think?" Mikita had asked quietly, more focused on the hard to read lines of text on the labels of bottles behind the tender. Idle conversation had killed some of the awkwardness. There was a tenseness that existed only in the unkempt mess of a head that was Mikita's. Anxiousness had made his leg vibrate against the counter's walls and bronze foot rest.

He already knew that Kenton himself had been going to the Buchanan, and though he was glad to have Ash and his company as potential friends, he had thought himself as an old man compared to them and felt a little off seeing them as his only day to day mates that December.

Surely, there must've been some interesting person there, someone that had thought like him and knew what he had been through. Someone that knew better of the man with two metal slices under his shirt and the marks of a man war torn. He wanted someone to notice him, pity him almost.

That self-depreciation had been coming from the drink, Mikita making a point to rub two fingers against his temple before running it through rough hair.

Kenton hummed and grumbled, his cheek still against the wood counter, his arms down at his side, hands folding in and out as if counting.

He had the answer in him, getting it out though was too much effort in his current state. He had made for one of his male servants to carry him off in a few hours anyway back to his bed.

"A lot."

"That's certainly the answer I was looking for Kenton." Mikita grumbled in turn, caught halfway between raising the glass to his lips, his breath painting clouds over it.

"Why do you care?" he slurred.

Mikita jingled the ice in the glass after another sip, finding a different answer in his mind than the one he told himself.

"I just wanted to know what kind of people I'll be spending the rest of my vacation with."

"Just stick to yourself and you won't have to deal with it."

"I'd rather not be alone outright Mister Kenton, it's a horrible feeling."

A minute passed as Kenton eye'd Mikita up again.

"How can some young lad like yourself be alone?" There was an implication there, but Mikita didn't pick it up. There was a sharp, handsome quality to Mikita though, not just in the rather faded gaze of Kenton. As if what he looked like had given him merit and rights to companionship.

"It's been a long time since I've walked this particular part of the world Mister Kenton, I need someone here for me."

Kenton had purred like it was an invitation. Mikita had scooted his stool over a tad. "You're gonna have to look somewhere else boyo." he teased.

Another scowl, another scoff. "I wasn't considering you."

"Oh the lamentations, another drink please." They all chuckled at the sarcasm, if only because it was what Kenton was looking for.

It was his job to pour more drink, and the bar tender had appeased, bringing up the golden malt to Kenton's glass. His head was more focused towards Mikita however in a questionative disposition. He had poured enough glasses to raise the bottle up as the glass was topped off, his hand going to the vodka.

Hands had waved the offer off, going to the counter and pushing the seat, and himself, away and off. Kenton had imprinted a small thing onto Mikita with his hands. The stock man didn't bother giving Mikita a handshake in his nosiness at the station, only instead patting his back with a rough thump to his surprise, but not displeasure.

Mikita returned it before leaving. Ash had seemed a simple person enough to not take too long in the showers, and the ten minutes he had spent mopping in the bar car seemed more than enough.

Hands floated over the pocket where his wallet was, but he stopped just short of getting it, remembering where all his physical cash had been. He winced at himself, but he had only hoped that Kenton was a gracious tipper.

"Guess I'll be seeing you around Kenton."

Kenton had grumbled again as his hand took the glass, head still faced toward Mikita as he turned away and to the door.

"Hey, Lieutenant Noelle."

"It's just Noelle, and what Kenton?"

"Shoes."

Mikita looked down at his lack of.

"Come on now, I know you're just a yokel with a blank check, but everyone has a right to shoes. It's not proper otherwise."

"You're right," Mikita grit through his teeth, tiredly. "I'm just a poor man on a rich man's vacation Kenton, thanks for noticing."

"Get yourself some shoes boyo, and something better than those boots you were wearing earlier. Mister Buchanan is very picky about the clothing of his guests."

The younger man half turned, mouth open, as it to thank the man for the advice, but he had shut his mouth, his eyes of uncertainty.

* * *

><p>A lady had turned up a nose at him as he made his way back to his car and that had made him call it in for the night.<p>

No shoes equaled no service in the business of some of the passengers.

Why he had gotten so irritable was beyond him. It was his first day on vacation and he had bought himself new clothes, made two new friends in the form of a Pokémon and his trainer, and had a drink. It was more than enough for him.

Mikita went for the old answer however, one that had suited him enough:

_'I'm a complicated person.'_

He knocked once or twice against the door to the cabin with one hand, the other with a cloth of breakfast pastries.

After a few moments Ash's head had poked out and greeted him with a fresh smile, his Pikachu climbing up his back and onto his head, also greeting him.

This time the sweets and the puff pastries that had landed on Ash's bed had been bought with a credit card and placed neatly into a cloth.

The two of them had reached their hands and paws down to it, Mikita flicking the hen pecking away.

"You eat those you'll never get to sleep now."

"Oh come on Micky, me and Pikachu don't sleep too much at night anyway."

Mikita studied the lie coming off both their faces, but only saw the dampness still remaining on their hair and fur.

"Dry your head up and get to bed, alright? I have a feeling we'll be busy tomorrow getting to the Buchanan. We'll have the croissants for breakfast and we'll save the poffins for your friends."

Ash had nodded happily as he considered the thought, Pikachu still a little tempted to snatch a sweet.

Little was needed to be said from there on in, Mikita taking his spare undershirt into the marble and steel bathroom.

Before he had shut the door however, Ash had interjected as he climbed into his bunk, a pillow propped up to give him a view of the stars outside their window. Pikachu had bundled into a fluffy ball once again next to his head, and Ash had looped an arm to idly pet his best friend.

"Hey Micky." he called out.

"Need something?" The two talked without any view of the other, a faucet running, the mirror already faded from Ash's previous usage.

"Nah, I was just wondering if you wanted an answer to that question earlier."

He did, but in truth, it was really none of his business until he had met the person in question personally.

A head shake, and he had softly let a no fall out of his mouth, closing the door and ending the day.

* * *

><p>AN: For me, and to those of you who have read my other story, SoT, this Mikita is slightly AU. To the casual observer, don't worry too much about it. He's the same person, just some details shifted around to make things convenient in this meshing of Landwalker's canon and the anime world. In fact I prefer not to allude to anything from Landwalker's world in this story, hence Mikita's apprehensiveness of saying what exactly he is. That's a theme right there by the way.


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